


who art in heaven

by noodlebunny



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-13 20:21:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14120043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noodlebunny/pseuds/noodlebunny
Summary: Ling is almost certain the boy on the balcony can only be an angel.





	who art in heaven

**Author's Note:**

> super quickly written modern au oneshot where ed and ling both get dragged to a rich people ball by their rich dads. thats it
> 
> it depends on where ur from but i guess theres technically underage drinking here
> 
> barely edited. very bad. read at your own risk

Ling’s first thought upon seeing the boy on the balcony, his sharp frame lit up like flames are dancing over the white of his crumpled dress shirt, is that an angel has fallen from heaven’s gates.

Then the angel opens his mouth.

“One hell of a shitty party, huh?” he remarks without turning to face Ling, arms remaining folded and rested on the stone lip of the balcony. His head moves slightly, though, sending his long ponytail swaying. The strands glow; Ling wets his lips.

“I don’t think it’s supposed to be a party, per se,” Ling says. He takes a tentative step closer, smoothing his suit jacket with palms bordering on clammy. “More like a ball.”

“For boring old bastards.” Finally, the boy looks up—man? Ling can’t tell; he could be anywhere between sixteen and twenty.

He has the face of an angel, too. His voice, however, is debatable.

“Huh,” the angel says. “You’re not all that old. Thought I was the only person here under twenty.”

“I thought the same of myself.” Ling leans one elbow on the balcony railing—not because the blond’s eyes appear molten gold in the chandelier light and Ling’s own knees are going weak, but because he’s a master of the artistry of being effortlessly casual.

Definitely.

“Ling Yao,” he introduces himself as, holding out his right hand. “My father’s head of Yao Industries.” He glances at the double doors leading back to the hall, rich with light and muffled voices. “He’s, y’know, inside taking as much advantage of tonight as he can.”

“Call me Ed.” Ed shakes the provided hand, and Ling almost flinches at the cold smoothness of the contact; looking properly, he sees Ed’s sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and his entire right arm is a black prosthetic. Automail, if its smooth, hissing movement anything to go by.

“No last name?” Ling remarks once Ed lets go, trying for lighthearted after his falter.

For a moment, Ed’s eyes flicker, indecisive. “Elric,” he finally offers.

Ling wracks his brain—his father made him memorise guests lest he make a fool of the family, but _Elric_ rings no bell.

Ed seems to pick up on Ling’s dilemma. “I’m here with my, uh, dad. Van Hohenheim?”

Ling feels his own eyes widen. “Isn’t he—“

“The cancer treatment dude, yeah.” Ed fails to seem hugely happy with his father’s fame, tanned brow creasing darkly as his automail hand clenches in his sleeve. “My brother’s following him around like a damn puppy. Don’t get it, personally.”

Ling knows better than to pry. He checks the time on his phone, mouth curling into a smile at Lan Fan’s texts, and he deftly sends off a reply. When he glances back up, Ed’s watching him attentively.

“What?” Ling says, slipping his phone into his pocket.

Ed shrugs. “Nothin’.” After a brief pause, he glances up through his bangs, almost apprehensive. “Just that you looked proper happy for a second there.”

“Is that unexpected?”

“Guess not.” Ed returns to staring out over the gardens, foot tapping a rhythm.

Ling blinks at the strange exchange. It shouldn’t be as difficult as it is to refrain from tucking stray hair behind Ed’s ear; it’d just fall right back, anyway, short as it is.

That, and they don’t even know each other.

“God, tonight fucking sucks,” Ed mutters.

“Is this so bad? There’s champagne.” Ling follow’s Ed’s gaze to the empty garden below. Strings of lights bathe the dark paths a dim yellow.

Ed hangs his head; his eyes flutter shut, and his blond lashes—is there a part of him that isn’t golden?—cast shadows on his cheeks, catching on a thin scar that mars the skin under his eye like a flaw in marble.

“Just wanna get outta here,” Ed murmurs. Ling wouldn’t have thought someone so bright would be capable of such hushed noise.

An idea, a terrible, consuming idea, itches its way into Ling’s head. It’s the sort of idea that would tear down every inch of upstanding reputation he fought tooth and nail for. The media would have a field day. His father wouldn’t look him in the eyes.

But Ed Elric moves like light, like electricity, like a candle in a dark room, and Ling’s passing his hand through the flame for fun.

Getting burnt would be worth it.

“Then I guess we should get out of here.”

Ed’s gaze snaps to Ling like a rubber band pulled and released. To be the focus of those startling eyes feels like being the centre of the universe itself. Ling can’t find air fast enough.

When Ed grins wickedly, Ling can’t help but feel he might as well’ve jumped from the balcony himself.

“You certain ‘bout that?” Ed says in a tone so low and so desperately _raw_ that the only Amestrian word Ling can find for it is feral. “No going back.”

Ling matches Ed’s smile as best he can. “I’m kinda sick of champagne, anyway.”

Only when Ed’s eyes glint does Ling begin to consider that it isn’t the lighting making them golden; perhaps he simply has the face of an angel set with the sharp yellow eyes of a cat.

Ling feels like that should scare him.

“Then let’s ditch this shit,” Ed growls, still smiling, all teeth.

They slip back indoors unnoticed, and Ling is a little impressed that someone who seems to take up so much space—despite his stature—is able to blend effortlessly into a crowd. Then again, every predator must have its camouflage.

Ling spots his own father across the room, and close by his scanning catches on a large blond man with glasses perched on his nose. He’s flanked closely by a boy almost identical to Ed but with a taller, broader build.

“Are those your—“

“Yup,” Ed says, voice dripping humourlessly. “Father and brother dearest.”

“You don’t seem keen on them.” Ling doesn’t have room to judge.

Ed doesn’t slow his pace, but he huffs a sigh. “Just Hohenheim. Al’s a damn treasure. I just don’t get why he’s so—” Ed purses his lips, still weaving through the crowd. “Never mind.”

They snatch a flute of champagne each as they leave. Outside, the air seems suddenly twice as biting as it was on the balcony. Ed shivers, opaque breath clouding in the night air, and Ling shucks his suit jacket and holds it out.

“Here.”

“Seriously?” Ed says, incredulous. “What is this to you? A damn rom-com?”

Ling glances pointedly at Ed’s prosthetic. “I can’t imagine that’s doing any favours to your body heat.”

Ed snatches the jacket, brow raised. “Is that always how you go about making friends?” he mutters, even as he threads his arms into the sleeves. They’re too long, and he huffs.

It’s cute.

“So,” Ed says, loudly, taking strides forwards with his hands driven deep into his—Ling’s jacket’s—pockets, “you ain’t from here, are you?”

Wandering through a rich Amestrian’s garden with a boy he doesn’t know doesn’t turn out to be so bad. Ed offers small things about himself—he hasn’t known his father long at all; like Ling, he’s nineteen and a bit; he thinks tall people were god’s mistake and soon a natural disaster will weed out those with the unfavourable height gene. As he talks, he gesticulates, and the more champagne he downs the wilder his motions fling, until Ling is caught in the winds of his hurricane.

“Shit,” Ed exhales, breathless, eyes wild and his chest heaving. “Sorry. You shoulda stopped me—I talk way too much, but god, chemistry and shit is so damn cool—“ He stops himself, wincing. “Sorry.”

Ling doesn’t know how to say he’d listen to rants about scientific theories all night if Ed were the one speaking. Before he can get a word in, Ed says, “How’re you finding Amestris?”

“Getting used to it.” Ling kicks a branch, gravel crunching underfoot. “I don’t know how to describe it. This country, it’s—strange.”

“Could say that. Could say it’s a goddamn mess.”

Ling considers. “In Xing, we don’t have pie.”

Ed spits out the last of his champagne. “Seriously?”

Repressing a smile, Ling bites his lip. “I had it for the first time here.”

“And?”

Belatedly, Ling realises they’ve slowed almost to a halt. Ed watches him avidly, chin slightly upturned. His hair is almost free from its confines, and the top buttons on his shirt are carelessly undone. He’s too big for his clothes, for his body, and as Ling watches, Ed seems to burst out his seams.

Ling grapples for words to fall from his tongue. “It tasted good.”

Ed’s eyes dilate. He breathes out, and then his hand pulls Ling by his tie until their lips collide.

It’s like being dipped into water so cold that Ling can’t tell if it’s boiling or freezing. Gasping, he leans into it, welcoming the waves as they crash over his head, and the both of them taste of champagne but Ed smells like the dust between the pages of a book, like smoke from a raging fire, and Ling drowns and burns all at once.

And then it ends.

“Sorry,” Ed says as he pulls away, warm breath blossoming over Ling’s flushed cheeks. “It’s just that you’re really hot, and the thought of you going back to Xing without me ever having kissed you was a pretty shitty thought.” He grins, straightening his collar like nothing ever happened. “Damn, that was good.”

Ed’s wiping saliva from the corner of his lip with a swipe of his thumb, shaking out his ponytail as he prepares to keep walking, _and that can’t be it_ ; Ling can’t have been given a taste of heaven only to have it snatched away bare moments after. The thought of it leaves him so irrevocably empty his heart turns itself inside-out in his chest, clenching painfully.

As Ed turns away, Ling catches him by the hips, leaning down, and this time it’s him who makes Ed gasp.

The second kiss is no different from the first, except this time Ling has the time to sink into the waves. Ed is unresponsive, briefly, but then he growls, throaty and feral, pressing onto his toes and demanding more. Ling kisses back twice as ferocious, but in retaliation Ed scrapes Ling’s lips with his teeth, and as Ling bites he pushes them against a nearby tree. Ed’s back collides heavily with the bark. He doesn’t appear to notice, hands tugging at Ling’s bound hair, scratching almost painfully at the back of his neck; his lips are chapped in places but his mouth is _soft_ , and Ling groans in bliss as Ed worms closer.

Ed’s smaller body is slotted against Ling’s, no space between them; he seems to burn up, setting Ling aflame in every part of his skin. Ed whines, needy, Ling’s insides fluttering at the thought that _he_ elicited that noise. Tilting his head, Ed opens his mouth further, and as Ling runs his tongue along Ed’s lip he grips Ed’s sides, grasping as much clothed skin as he can while Ed hooks his arms around Ling’s neck, panting breathily.

Ling didn’t know anything could feel this good.

They pause for air, hot breath mixing in the frigid air, foreheads pressed together still. Ed’s eyes are shut; Ling wishes he’d open them, just for a moment; just for a taste of that gold again.

“God,” Ed pants. “Fuck.” Even with his shirt untucked and riding up his torso, his hair down and strands sticking across the sheen of his skin, his lips red and swollen and bleeding at the corner—

Ed doesn’t look any less of an angel.

Ling grunts, brushing their lips again just lightly. “Fuck.”

“There’s no way I can walk back into that party _not_ looking incredibly debauched.” Ed jerks his hips forward, at which point Ling abruptly notices something incriminatingly solid pressing against his thigh. He swallows.

“Well,” Ling starts, throat dry, voice coarse, “you don’t have to go back.”

Unhurriedly, Ed slides his eyes open, the gold of his irises glowing like pinpoints of light in the dimness. He licks blood from his lip where Ling bit too hard, reaching to adjust Ling’s tie with languid fingers.

“I suppose so,” Ed says, finally. “Or—“ he frowns, mimicking thought—“I could go back into that crowded hall looking like I was just fucked against a tree, and show my upstanding old man what I _really_ think of his precious reputation.”

Perhaps too late Ling realises his earlier angel evaluation was incorrect.

Ed is the goddamn devil.

Ling’s kinda into it.

“I guess we should get onto that, then,” Ling says.

Ed flashes a grin. He drags them into another biting kiss, and Ling is welcome to the sting.

**Author's Note:**

> u kno what makes my life? u guessed it, kudos and comments! even if u got a bit bored itd be nice to humour me and leave kudos mayb? thx for reading ur an absolute champion


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